The walk to the café was rather quiet because Lena
didn't know exactly what to say. She couldn't say, "I
really love **SGT. PEPPER** and it blows me away every
time I listen to it!" It was only late 1966; that
album won't come out until June of 1967. She realizes
that she has to monitor what she says, she doesn't
want to alter or risk changing the future, or to her
the past that she holds so dear.

The waitress at the café seats them at a booth. Lena
stuffs all of her belongings underneath her seat. She
inches out of her jacket as the waitress comes. Lena
orders a tomato sandwich and a cup of coffee, while
Paul orders a cup of tea. He leans forward and Lena
can't help but question her sanity as she looks upon
his face.

"So Lena, that's an interesting name.
Where did you get it?"

Lena smiles broadly once again
hoping that it doesn't look fake, "My mom, but I
shortened it."

Paul looks intrigued at the prospect of finding out
her real moniker; "Let's see," he says as he rubs his
temples like a mind-reader at the county fair, "Is
your name Marlena?"

Lena shakes her head negatively.

Unfazed, Paul tries again, "Is it Selena?" Much to
his chagrin, Lena shakes her head again, "No."

Lena takes a sip of coffee and debates whether or not
to tell him. The way British people say "luv" has
always given her the chills. She clears her throat
and explains, "My full name is Anna Magdalena
McGaughey."

Paul looks thoughtful as if he were
digesting this new information, "That is a very pretty
name. It certainly does you justice. Does it have any
significance?"

Lena's ears are burning a deep
scarlet, "Actually, my mother was reading a book about
J.S. Bach he had a wife named Anna Magdalena. So
presto! Here I am."

Paul smiles and sips his tea, "Oh, so you have a
musical mum, d'ya?"

Lena takes a bite of her sandwich
and swallows, "Somewhat. She likes the classics."

Paul, intrigued once again asks, "So what type of
music are you into?" Lena runs through her list, but
leaving out Fleetwood Mac (because Stevie Nicks and
Lindsey Buckingham have yet to join the band) and
Heart (they were probably still in high school), " Oh
you know, Mamas and The Papas, Bob Dylan, Patsy
Cline..."

"Patsy Cline?"

"Yeah she's great. Oh, and I really love the Beach
Boys new album **PET SOUNDS**. I think that's about
it."

Paul looks impressed, "I loved that album,too.
Gee Lena, that's one honey of a list. Are you sure
that's it?"

Lena waxes thoughtful and catches on to
what he is trying to get her to say, "Oh yeah, there
is that one band. I can't quite remember their name.
Oh, I know! The Bugs!"

Paul looks at her in dismay, "The Bugs?" Lena looks
at him jokingly, "Yes, Mr. McCartney, I own Beatles
albums. All of them actually."

Paul grins wide, "I
knew it! So, here's question number three. Are you
fresh off the plane?" Lena chokes down some sandwich
and offers a wry smile, "I guess you could say that."

"Where are you from?"

"Virginia."

He laughs and her face goes pink, "What's so funny?"

Paul looks at her sincerely, "You. You are so honest.
Most birds would flip out and scream, or they would
brag about their achievements." He looks at her
apparel, "You certainly don't dress like the other
American girls that come visit here. You know great
gobs o' makeup and teased hair. You're a hippie,
aren't you?"

Lena smiles in spite of herself, "I am more of a
hippie than a mod, but mostly I just try to be me."

Paul nods approvingly and then to the guitar case, "So
do you play?"

She looks at him and shrugs, "I mess
around a bit, that's all."

Paul somehow in disbelief protests, "Oh come off it.
I bet you're good. You're just being all
modest-like."

Lena shakes her head, "Oh no, I'm not.
I play for fun. But it is nothing serious."

Paul taps
the table coyly, "Do you sing as well?"

Lena lifts her sandwich to her lips, "I sing better
than I play, if that's what you mean."

Paul sips his
tea, "I'd like to hear you sometime." Lena chokes on
her sandwich and coughs. She guzzles down a glass of
water.

"Paul," Lena breathes much easier now. She lays down
some money for her food and picks up her things and
moves towards the doors. She has just stepped on to
the pavement when she hears, "Lena! Lena! Please
wait!" She turns to see Paul McCartney pacing after
her, "Lena, the least I can do is see that you get to
your hotel safely."

Lena's mouth drops in horror,
"H-Hotel?" Where was she going to stay? She doesn't
even know if she has enough money to even get a room!

A disgusted groan escapes her lips, "Oh no. How
could I forget?"

Paul looks rather baffled, "You mean you came all the
way to England and didn't even reserve a room?"

Lena
turns even more pale than usual and being quite
embarrassed, whispers, "Yeah. This whole trip was kind
of on impulse." Impulse was right! She didn't even
know how she got here!

Paul picked up the guitar case
and lead Lena by the arm, "It'll be alright. Follow
me."

Paul leads her down the street to a rather posh
hotel. He sits her down in the lobby and goes to talk
to the manager. Lena looks a little bewildered when
Paul returns and hands her a room key.

Lena feels
very grateful, yet sighs heavily, "Mr.-I mean Paul, I
can't accept this. There is no way that I can repay
you."

Paul places his hand over Lena's mouth, "Think
nothing of it. As for the matter of repayment, you
only have to do one thing."

Lena looks skeptical for
a moment and finally says, "What?"

Paul takes her by
the hand and looks her directly in the eyes, "Come
with me tonight and meet me mates."

Lena recalls what the note said, "MAKE THE MOST OF
IT."
Besides, she really couldn't resist the idea of
seeing all of The Beatles young, alive, together, and
at their peak. "I'll come."

Paul's lips curl into a
slight smile, "Good. Now go get ready and I'll pick
you up at seven." He walks toward the glass doors as
the elevator closes and takes Lena up to her room.